


Waking Up Next to You

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cuddling, First Kiss, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: “I thought you said you were going to have a shower?” Clint said from behind him.

  “I was attempting to,” he admitted, the weight of unspoken words still hanging between them.
  It had seemed wrong to fall back into the familiar patterns of their usual mission banter, and Phil was floundering a little at the loss.  Ever since Phil’s resurrection, their relationship had been stilted and awkward, which really, was Phil’s fault.  He wasn’t going to apologize for dying, but he did have to face the consequences of his actions.  It was why Phil had been trying so hard to give Clint space to deal with everything he’d been through, to let Clint set the boundaries he needed.  It hurt a little that Clint had been avoiding him, but this wasn’t about Phil.
  He ran his good hand over his face, the rasp of stubble rough on his palm.  “I was just figuring out where to… start,” he said, because priorities, Phillip.  He could worry about repairing his friendship with Clint later.
 
Clint and Phil get stuck in a safehouse after a rescue mission, and maybe get a chance to finally fix things.  (And cuddle.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jmathieson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/gifts).



> Author’s note: This fic is canon divergent from the end of the events of the first Avengers movie, but does draw on a few elements from CA:TWS. In this ‘verse, the Avengers were told afterwards of Phil’s survival, and SHIELD didn’t fall.

Phil Coulson had been captured by the enemy three times during his career with the Rangers, been kidnapped six times during a variety of SHIELD operations and been locked in too many basements to count.  (Or really, to bother remembering.)

Unfortunately -- or maybe thankfully -- Phil’s most recent experience hadn’t lived up to his previous record.  The accommodations had definitely been lacking, and Phil had several pointers to help Thug #3 learn to throw a decent punch.  Or he would have, had Thug #3 not been full of arrows.  And possibly blown up.

(Between them, he and Clint had set a lot of charges, and the compound that had been the location of Phil’s unintended vacation was now just a very large pile of rubble.)

Phil would have rescued himself, but what the thugs holding Phil had lacked in technique, they’d made up for in enthusiasm and a distressing ability to foil Phil’s escape attempts.  They’d found the subcutaneous SHIELD tracker in Phil’s shoulder before he’d even woken up, so Phil had thought he’d been on his own.  He’d tried everything he could to escape, despite being stripped to only his pants and undershirt and locked, alone, in a cell for three days.  Phil could only imagine the thugs had thought that being cold, hungry and behind a padlocked door would stop Phil from getting out.

(They didn’t know Phil.)

It had actually been a surprise when they’d dragged him out into a different part of the compound one morning, and not in a good way.  They’d tried handcuffs the first time they’d ‘interrogated’ him, but Phil had picked them in about four minutes.  (Which had been the beginning of escape attempt #4 and had led to a nasty punch to the face.)  He’d been gearing up for his fifth attempt when Strike Team Delta, with Jasper’s help, had swooped in to save him.

(Thank _fuck_.)

His interrogators hadn’t left Phil with any serious injuries, but Phil hadn’t been able to shake the pervasive sense of cold, particularly in his toes.  He was hoping a scalding hot shower would fix that.  Well, if Phil could get there.  Maybe Phil should have attempted a sauna -- no Finnish house, even a safehouse, was complete without one, and Phil could have just slumped onto one of the raised wooden benches and let the steam warm his toes.

Of course, having a sauna would also have meant getting naked and that’s where Phil was having the problem.

So far, his hoodie was proving a challenge because it was really hard to lift his left arm above his waist.  He felt like a walking bruise, and his ego still hadn’t recovered from the fact that he’d been kidnapped by a man who called himself ‘Karhu’ completely unironically.  Phil’s Finnish wasn’t great, but he was pretty sure that meant ‘bear of the eating people variety’, and if that didn’t scream ‘compensating for something’, Phil wasn’t sure what did.

“I thought you said you were going to have a shower?” Clint said from behind him.

Phil spun sharply, wincing when the movement sending pain flaring across his bruises, even as an icy shudder ran down his spine.  Ever since Loki, Phil couldn’t stop the jolt of fear that sent his heart trying to escape his chest every time he sensed someone behind him.  The reaction was mostly internal now, but Phil still had to suck in a breath to stop the panic clawing at his throat.

Clint stood in the doorway to the bathroom, still dressed in the SHIELD combat fatigues he’d worn to bust Phil out.  His eyes were sharp as they flicked over Phil from head to toe, but the line of his shoulders didn’t relax.  He’d put on a little of the weight he’d lost under Loki’s control, but there were still dark shadows under his eyes and a haunted gleam to his gaze that he couldn’t seem to shift.  Clint looked more like the hardened mercenary Phil had first met all those years ago than the grounded, competent Avenger he’d become.  An impression that wasn’t helped by the bitter smirk fixed on his face when he quirked an eyebrow at Phil’s silence.

Phil swallowed and looked away.  “I was attempting to,” he admitted, the weight of unspoken words still hanging between them.

It had seemed wrong to fall back into the familiar patterns of their usual mission banter, and Phil was floundering a little at the loss.  Ever since Phil’s resurrection, their relationship had been stilted and awkward, which really, was Phil’s fault.  He wasn’t going to apologize for _dying_ , but he did have to face the consequences of his actions.  It was why Phil had been trying so hard to give Clint space to deal with everything he’d been through, to let Clint set the boundaries he needed.  It hurt a little that Clint had been avoiding him, but this wasn’t about Phil.

He ran his good hand over his face, the rasp of stubble rough on his palm.  “I was just figuring out where to… start,” he said, because _priorities, Phillip_.  He could worry about repairing his friendship with Clint later.

Clint sighed, his gaze losing a little of its intensity as the corner of his mouth tipped up in a wry smile.  “I told you I’d help if it hurts too much, Phil,” he said softly.

Phil nodded.  “You did,” he agreed.

Clint raised both eyebrows, and Phil sighed.  “I just didn’t want you to…”

“Feel obligated?” Clint said when Phil trailed off.

Phil nodded again.  Then he shook his head.  “No, I mean…”  He risked a glance at Clint.  “I did notice that you’ve been avoiding me lately, and I don’t blame you, but I also didn’t want to make you feel any worse.  About… things.”

Clint’s face hardened, the muscle in his jaw tightening.  “I can stand being in your presence, Phil,” he bit out.  “I’m not…”

Phil wanted to reach out and cover Clint’s flexing hand with his, but he wasn’t sure the gesture would be welcome.  Or that he had the right.  Not anymore.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Clint muttered, reaching for the zipper of Phil’s hoodie.  “I’m just… trying to deal with everything.”

Phil ran his tongue over the cut in his lip.  He could see his reflection in the mirror above the sink, and even Phil had to admit that he looked awful enough to justify Clint’s worry.  A large black bruise covered Phil’s cheekbone when Thug #2 had back-fisted Phil across the face, and he had a hundred bruises like it under his clothes, from his chest to his hips.

“I know you are,” he said to Clint.

Back at the compound, Phil had considered hiding the extent of his injuries.  Recovering the Chitauri weapons should have been his priority -- it was what he and Jasper had been sent to Finland to do.  He should have been helping track down the double-crossing MI6 agent that had started everything.  Instead, he’d met Clint’s gaze and the words had frozen in his throat.  After Loki, Phil hadn’t been able to willfully cause Clint anymore pain.  So he’d conceded the point and let Clint take him to the SHIELD safehouse in Talluskylä.  Jasper and Natasha had been the ones to go after the remains of Karhu’s men and the stolen Chitauri tech, and at last report Natasha and Jasper had them cornered near a local air force base.

But everything was okay.  Jasper had called Phil’s disappearance in, and Maria had sent Strike Team Delta to get Phil out.

Clint slowly slid the hoodie down Phil's arms, careful of Phil’s aching shoulders and bandaged wrists.  Kahru and his thugs had tied him to the chair with rope after the handcuff incident, and the ropes had bit into Phil’s wrists every time he’d moved.  Getting free hadn’t been easy -- or painless -- but Phil was hardly the type to sit around waiting to get rescued.  Not when he could be wreaking havoc and revenge.  By the time he’d gotten free, Phil had torn up the skin of his wrists pretty badly, and Clint’s eyes had widened when he’d spotted the trickles of blood running down Phil’s hands.

Shaking off his thoughts, Phil reached out to still Clint’s hand before Clint could lift the hem of Phil’s grimy undershirt.  Phil wouldn’t be getting it off without help, but right now, the fabric was the only thing stopping Clint from seeing the brand new scar bisecting Phil’s chest.  Phil had never really been a vain man, but there was a difference to not minding scars he’d gotten trying to protect the world, and forcing Clint to confront evidence of something he might not want to confront.

“It’s okay, Phil,” Clint whispered, his gaze flicking between Phil’s face and chest.  “I want to see it.”

Phil didn’t ask if Clint was sure.  He just nodded and let Clint push up his undershirt until his scar was exposed.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clint hissed.

He reached out a hand to touch, but hesitated, his fingers hovering over the twisted skin as he raised wide, dark eyes to Phil’s.  This close, Phil could see the green and gold woven through the startling blue, as well as the haunted, bitter sadness Clint was trying so hard to hide.

“You can touch,” Phil said, and he was shocked at how rough his voice came out.  “It doesn’t hurt.  The doctors tell me there was a lot of nerve damage.”

Clint ran a finger over the scar, but Phil felt little more than a distant pressure.  He was painfully aware of how lucky he was, how much Nick had done to give him life, no matter how _hard_ waking up had been.  Yet nothing had been as difficult as watching the pain flicker through Clint’s eyes as he traced Phil’s scar, and it tore at what was left of Phil’s heart.

“Jesus, Phil,” Clint breathed.

Phil swallowed heavily.  The ghosts of words caught in his throat, but Phil wasn’t sure he could give voice to any of them -- or that they’d do any good.  Phil might have been trying to give Clint space, but Phil also hadn’t been sure how to talk about his… death.  It wasn’t exactly the kind of topic he could bring up over coffee, and truthfully, he wasn’t even sure what _he_ thought about everything yet.

“Yeah,” Phil said hoarsely.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders tensing up.  He pulled back with a jerk, and Phil had to lock his knees not to follow the movement, to reach out and pull Clint close again.  “I’m going to leave you to shower,” Clint said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and not meeting Phil’s gaze.

Phil nodded, letting Clint retreat even though it was the last thing he wanted, because what else was he supposed to do?

<*>

Clint swallowed, a thousand emotions swirling in a tornado behind his ribs.   _Fuck_.  He’d fled to the kitchen after helping Phil with his clothes, but the distance hadn’t done any good.  Actually seeing Phil’s scar made everything a million times worse.  The SHIELD therapists Clint had been seeing had kept saying that what had happened wasn’t Clint’s fault.  That he hadn’t been in control of his own actions.  The only problem was they hadn’t been there.  Clint _had_.  He’d been the one to watch his own hands kill, to feel his own mouth spill all his secrets to a psychopath, and now Phil was wearing the evidence of Clint’s betrayal on his skin.

Sighing, Clint ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes.  The movement pulled at the bandaged cut on his neck, a remnant of the mission Maria had pulled him off to mount Phil’s rescue.  The injury wasn’t serious, but it would have been if Natasha hadn’t been watching his back.  That close call was yet another reason why Clint seriously needed to take a few days downtime to get his head screwed on straight.  Then maybe his heart wouldn’t be thudding against his ribs and his guts twisting into knots just because Phil was _standing_ in the other room.  Or every time he set foot on the Helicarrier.

It had been almost seven months after… well, Loki, but the maniacal wannabe-God was still fucking up Clint’s life.  Clint had managed to look up the footage of Loki’s confrontation with Phil before either Fury or Natasha could stop him, which had just added even more layers of guilt to the massive guilt complex Clint already had.  It helped a little that Fury had remodelled that entire section when he’d repaired the Helicarrier, but every reminder of Phil sent a wave of grief lurching through Clint’s chest, squeezing his lungs until he couldn’t catch his breath.

Not that Clint needed to grieve, because technically Phil was walking around, talking and generally being _alive_ right in the bathroom.

Agent Coulson’s miraculous resurrection hadn’t gone down well with the other Avengers.  Clint had been pretty out of it most of the way through the battle, barely focusing on more than taking Loki down, but afterwards, Natasha had explained how Fury had used Phil’s death to motivate Steve and Stark to work together.  And, ultimately, how it had worked.  Part of Clint could understand why Steve and Stark were so mad at the manipulation, but the rest of Clint was just _angry_ that they’d needed it in the first place.  And that Phil had been stupid enough to go up against an alien claiming to be a _god_.

Because, the reality was that Phil really had _died_.  The medics hadn’t been lying when they’d called it.  Clint had heard it all straight from Fury, how the Director had had to watch his oldest friend _die_ right in front of him, and how he’d moved heaven and earth to bring Phil back.  Clint’s feelings were still all messed up and he wasn’t really sure of much anymore, but he’d seen the grief in Fury’s gaze and seen the pallor of Phil’s skin when he’d faced everyone down when the news of his resurrection had come to light.

All of which made things more than a little awkward now that Steve was going with Strike Team Delta on most of their SHIELD missions, but Clint was dealing with it.  He _had_ been dealing with it.  And, okay, he’d been avoiding Phil a little, but he had his reasons, dammit.  Contrary to popular belief, Clint was self-aware enough to recognize his own issues, including his complicated and possessive feelings about his former handler.  Phil had been his rock for so long, a steady pillar of calm to lean on when he needed to, that Clint almost hadn’t been able to contemplate a world without Phil in it.

When Clint closed his eyes, he could still picture Maria Hill standing on the Helicarrier, SHIELD-tab in hand, and a grim look on her face.  Steve had hesitated, but Maria had sent him away.  Clint had barely noticed over the sudden thundering of his heart.  He’d shaken his head when Natasha shot him a sharp glance, because if Maria wasn’t including Steve, then it could only have been about one thing.

Phil.

The news that Phil had been missing had hit Clint like a bullet to the chest.  His blood had frozen in his veins, his entire body going still.  He’d barely registered Natasha’s low curse in Russian beside him, too focused on the icy bands wrapping around his chest and _squeezing_.  Clint had vowed silently to himself right there, that he wasn’t going to stop until Phil had gotten home safe, and the weight of his promise had settled heavily onto his shoulders.  It was still sitting there, pressing down on Clint and making it hard to catch a breath.

Grunting, Clint shoved all his swirling emotions back into their box and tried to get his head back in the game.  He and Phil might have been secure in a SHIELD safehouse in a remote part of Finland, but Clint still needed to take care of Phil.  Phil deserved that.

The pantry was stocked with various cans, and Clint set about making what he was hoping was chicken and noodle soup based on the picture on the label.  There were a variety of MREs to choose from, too, but Phil hated them, and extraction wasn’t going to take that long to get there.  Soup would do until he could feed Phil a home cooked meal.

The soup was almost done when Phil padded into the kitchen, his hair still dripping and a towel in one hand.  He’d managed to pull on the sweats and flannel shirt Clint had left him, but the shirt’s buttons were only half done up.  Clint had to swallow hard at the sight of Phil’s naked chest covered in greying hair.  Biting his lip, Clint took the soup off the old, metal stove and turned to Phil.  “Need a hand?” he asked.

“Please,” Phil said.

Clint fetched the first aid kit that all SHIELD safehouses came with, and tried to swallow down his awkwardness.  This was _Phil_.  They’d both performed some variation of this routine in multiple safehouses around the world.  Helping Phil this time should have been no different.

(It shouldn’t have been, but it _was_.)

“Here,” Clint said when he walked back into the small kitchen, taking the towel from Phil.  “Before you hurt yourself out of sheer stubbornness.”

He set the first aid kit down and towelled the worse of the water from Phil’s hair and face, careful not to rub too hard on the bruises covering Phil’s cheek and jaw.  If Clint didn’t quite meet Phil’s eyes during the whole process, Phil was nice enough not to call him on it.

That done, Clint turned his attention to Phil’s wrists, swallowing heavily at the torn skin.   _Fuck_.  For a second, Clint couldn’t breathe.  He had to remind himself that Phil was fine, that Clint (and Natasha and Jasper) had gotten him out safe, but Phil’s bruises and torn wrists were a reminder of Phil’s mortality.  Of the three days of hell he’d spent believing that he’d helped Loki kill his friend, the man he trusted, the man he… well, _loved_.  Clint could at least be honest about it in his own head.  And maybe he’d been taking the coward’s way out by not talking to Phil about this, but it had been hard enough to deal with the guilt of what he’d done under Loki’s control.  He hadn’t been ready.

But he was damned if he was going to let anything take Phil from him when that pointy-helmeted asshole hadn’t been able to.

“Breathe, Clint,” Phil told him in a low voice, his voice steady.

He sucked in a lungful of air.  “I’m good,” he muttered.

Phil didn’t protest the blatant lie.  Clint couldn’t bring himself to look Phil in the face, instead focusing on applying antiseptic and fresh bandages to Phil’s wrists.

“Thank you,” Phil said when Clint had finished.

Clint nodded.  “I made soup,” he said.  “Well, I heated it.  You should eat.”

“Clint,” Phil said, laying a hand on Clint’s arm.  The warmth sank through Clint’s shirt.  “It’s okay.”

Clint swallowed, swaying on his feet.  He wanted nothing more than to fold forward against Phil’s chest and just stay there for a minute, but he couldn’t ask that of Phil.  Not after everything.

“Oh, come here,” Phil huffed, gently pulling Clint into a hug.

When Phil wrapped his arms around him, Clint sucked in a breath that was almost a sob, but Phil just tightened his grip.  Clint fisted his hands in the back of Phil’s hoodie and tucked his face into Phil’s neck, letting the reassuring rise and fall of Phil’s chest remind him that Phil was here.  Whole and _alive_.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be,” Phil said.  “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

Clint wanted to protest, but Phil just shushed him when he tried.  “I do,” Phil said.  “I was giving you space, because I thought that’s what you wanted.  I was…”

“I did,” Clint interrupted.  “I just… I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Phil said softly, and Clint had to shut his suddenly stinging eyes.

Clint stayed there for another long moment, until he finally pulled himself away.  His cheeks heated, his stomach clenching because he was supposed to be looking after Phil, not almost crying in his arms.

“The soup’s getting cold,” he said, vainly trying to change the subject before he broke down completely.

“Right,” Phil replied.

They ate in silence, and Clint made sure Phil got a second helping of soup to compensate for the no doubt shitty conditions of his kidnapping.  By the time Phil was done, he was stubbornly blinking open his eyes every time they slid shut, like a small child trying to stay up past his bedtime.

“You need sleep,” Clint said.

“No, I…” Phil started.

“Phil,” Clint said firmly.  “Go to bed.  I’ll clean up.”

Phil still hesitated, his blue eyes lingering on Clint.  “Okay,” he agreed finally, “but don’t forget that you need sleep, too.  So no sleeping on the couch out of self-sacrifice, okay?”

Clint swallowed, his throat suddenly thick.  He should have known that Phil would have spotted that the safehouse only had one bed with blankets enough to sleep in.  The air was suddenly thick, but Clint couldn’t deny the temptation to sleep next to Phil, to actually _know_ that Phil was safe and alive.  He wasn’t strong enough to say no, even if he should.

“Promise,” he said.

Phil nodded once and padded out of the kitchen, leaving Clint to his thoughts.

<*>

Phil blinked awake slowly, the sensation of soft sheets against his cheek and a dull throbbing echoing through his head.  Squinting open his eyes, Phil waited for the room to come into focus as he tried to figure out where he was.  His ribs and wrists were screaming at him, and Phil was pretty sure moving would be a bad plan, but he didn’t smell the sharp antiseptic of SHIELD Medical.  The room itself gave Phil no clues -- it was warm and comfortably decorated, but it could have been anywhere.  There were no photographs on the bedside table all walls, and no one had helpfully put up a sign with geographic coordinates, either.

Shifting, Phil tried to push himself up, but a bright jolt of pain suggested that was a bad idea.  Phil breathed deeply until the pain receded.  Bruised ribs _sucked_.  Glancing around as much as he was able, Phil looked for Clint, but aside from the slightly rumpled blankets on the other side of the bed there was no sign of the other man.  Phil hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.

Phil was just dozing off again, lulled by the warmth of the blankets, when footsteps padded back into the room.  Blinking open his eyes again, Phil swallowed, because Clint was only wearing a pair of jeans that rode low on his lean hips.  Clint’s chest was bare, a few beads of water clinging to his broad shoulders, and his hair was dark and slicked back from his face.  Reaching into a bag, Clint tugged out a clean t-shirt and Phil had to glance away from the strong muscles rippling under golden skin before he gave himself away by doing something embarrassing.

“Good morning,” he said roughly, attempting to roll over.  If he moved slowly, he could almost manage it without the pain.  Dammit, he was really getting too old for the kind of heroics that led to this much bruising.

Clint stiffened at Phil’s words before pulling out a dark hoodie and shrugging it on.  “Hey, Phil,” he said mildly, turning around.  “How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” Phil replied.

Clint frowned, his eyes narrowing.  “And how’s the pain?” he asked.

Phil shrugged as much as he could.  “Okay,” he said, because as much as his injuries hurt right now, they had nothing on the pain he’d woken up in after Loki.  That had kind of broken Phil’s scale for this kind of thing.

“Really?” Clint said, and that flat disbelief was uncalled for, really.

“Yes,” Phil said firmly.

The corner of Clint’s mouth tipped up.  “Okay, you are feeling better,” he said.  “You’re arguing.”

Phil scowled, because he didn’t always argue.  (Okay, well maybe, but only when people were being stupid.)

Clint sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on large, fuzzy socks.  They were bright purple and looked very toasty, which probably meant they’d been a gift from Natasha.  Natasha always liked ridiculous, but practical gifts.

“So how long was I out?” Phil asked, struggling to find some sort of conversation that sounded sensible.

“About nine hours,” Clint said.  “I think you needed it.”

Phil couldn’t really deny that.  Even before this mission with Jasper and his embarrassing abduction, Phil had been pushing himself to catch up on everything he’d missed.  “And how long did you sleep?” he said, because Phil might have been tired, but he wasn’t stupid.

“I’m fine, Phil,” Clint muttered.

“Okay,” Phil agreed.  Pushing Clint right now seemed kind of a dick move.

Clint sighed, his whole body moving with it.  “All right, I’m not fine,” he said.  “But I’m trying to work on that.”  He glanced over at Phil again, and in the soft light filtering around the edges of the curtain, his eyes were startlingly blue.  “I’m also trying to not be such a dick.”

Phil smiled.  “Don’t try too hard,” he said.  “I wouldn’t want my mouthy asset to disappear completely.”

The humour faded from Clint’s face and he looked down at his lap, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.  “Yeah, but I’m not your asset anymore, sir,” he said.

Phil snorted.  He couldn’t help it.  “Clint, you’ll _always_ be my mouthy asset,” he said.  “I don’t care if you’re an Avenger now, too.  I was here first.”

Clint’s head jerked up, his eyes wide.  Phil felt his heart skip a beat as his own words filtered through his brain.  That had been uncomfortably close to a statement of possession, hadn’t it?

Phil had resigned himself a long time ago to watching his asset from afar, and he was proud to be one of Clint’s few trusted friends.  It didn’t stop him yearning for more in the dark of the night, or apparently after five months of not speaking to each other and a mission gone wrong.  “I, uh…” he said.

“It’s okay, Phil,” Clint said, his soft voice cutting through Phil’s internal panic.  “I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

Phil immediately wanted to smack himself for putting that brittle smile back on Clint’s face.  His heart thumped hard against his ribs, hope sparking in his chest.  Was it possible Clint _wanted_ Phil’s words to mean more?

“I’m going to go radio in and see if we can get a timeline on extraction,” Clint said, standing up.  “And maybe see what we have for breakfast.”

“Sure,” Phil said, his mind whirling.  He had some planning to do.

<*>

Clint looked up from where he’d curled up on the couch with a book when Phil gingerly sat down next to him.  Phil looked seriously, the corners of his mouth pulling down, and Clint suddenly had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He braced himself for whatever Phil was about to say, but Phil just offered him a small smile.

“Clint,” he said.

Clint eyed Phil carefully.  “Is everything okay?” he asked.  “Do you need more painkillers?”

“I’m fine,” Phil said.

“Are you sure?” Clint said, because it wouldn’t be the first time Phil had lied about how much pain he was in.

Phil grimaced.  “Truthfully, I’m just bored,” he said.

They still had about twelve hours until extraction was due, and while the solar panels on the roof were great for running the SHIELD installed security systems, they didn’t exactly have enough power for a TV.

“And I suppose you want me to do something about that?” Clint said, reaching for his normal flippancy.

Phil huffed and rolled his eyes.  “I just thought we could maybe talk a little?” he said.  “Unless I’m interrupting your manly brooding?”

Clint ignored the way his stomach clenched, and glared at Phil.  He appreciated Phil’s attempts at their normal banter, even as he waited for the other combat boot to drop.  “I wasn’t brooding,” he grumbled.

Phil waved his hand.  “Oh, then, please continue,” he snarked back.

Clint smiled despite himself.  “Oh, shut up, Phil,” he said, reaching over to pass Phil the cup of coffee he’d made.

(Clint didn’t mind sharing, and he suddenly didn’t feel like coffee anyway.)

Phil took the offered mug with a happy hum, because the man would have to be dead not to want coffee.  A second later, Clint’s words caught up with him and he winced.  Shit.  Jokes like that just weren’t funny anymore, not even in his own head.  Maybe _especially_ in his own head.

“Okay, now you really _are_ brooding,” Phil said.

Clint sighed, closing his book and setting it on the arm of the couch.  It was true that he’d been thinking when Phil had joined him, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit what -- or rather _who_ \-- he’d been thinking about.  There was no reason at all for Phil to hear about the way Clint’s traitorous heart skipped a beat every time Phil walked into a room.  Or when Clint had helped Phil out of his hoodie in the bathroom, or when Phil leaned in close enough that Clint could see the grey in his eyes.

Clint was a Level Seven agent, dammit.

He’d resigned himself to Phil never reciprocating the depth of his feelings a long time ago.  It didn’t matter that Phil would never fall in love with him -- Clint was happy just having Phil’s friendship.  (Natasha was always telling him that this was going to get worse until he actually confessed, but that was hard to do when the icy cold fear of rejection was squeezing his throat, okay?)

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Phil said, breaking into Clint’s thoughts.  “How did you manage to find me?  I thought the smugglers had destroyed my SHIELD tracker?”

“Oh,” Clint said.  He should have expected that question.  “Um, yeah.  Your watch?”

As Phil frowned, Clint climbed off the couch to grab the watch from his bag.  It wasn’t fancy and didn’t have any tricks from R&D, but considering how it had helped Clint find Phil, he was kind of fond of it.  When he held it out to Phil, Phil’s frown deepened, and Clint offered him a slightly sheepish smile.

“Dammit,” Phil muttered.  “Nick put a tracker in it, didn’t he?”

Clint nodded.  “He found Nat and me as we were boarding the quinjet,” he said.  “Fury said you owed him a million favours and you weren’t getting out of them that easy.  He also mentioned something about payback?”

Phil sighed.  “He and I are going to have _words_ later,” he grumbled.

He glanced up at Clint and smiled wryly.  “Back in the Rangers, I had a habit of putting locators all over Nick’s things, including his ID tags,” he explained.  “I still maintain I wouldn’t have had to if he wasn’t always running off without me, headfirst into danger.”

Clint grinned, because he didn’t doubt that for a second.  “Should I start searching my gear for trackers, too, sir?” he teased.

Phil narrowed his eyes.  “Don’t tempt me, Hawkeye,” he said.

The dry tone was so familiar that Clint had to close eyes that were suddenly prickling with tears.  Beside him, Phil cursed under his breath and then strong arms were pulling Clint against a strong chest.  Breathing raggedly, Clint tried to ignore the hot tears leaking out from behind his lids.  This was the second time he’d almost cried in Phil’s arms, but he just couldn’t seem to pull himself together.  When he pressed closer, Phil grunted, and Clint immediately pulled back.   _Shit_.  Phil’s bruises.

“It’s fine,” Phil said.  “I don’t care.”

“Phil,” Clint said, pulling back and rubbing his eyes.  “You…”

Reaching up, Phil cupped Clint’s face between his hands.  “Care very much about you, Clint Barton,” he said, his voice the kind of serious he only used when he was promising to bring Clint home alive.  “And even if it takes me every day for the rest of my life, I’m going to try to make up for causing you so much pain.”

Closing his eyes, Clint breathed out shakily and leaned forward just enough to press his forehead against Phil’s shoulder.  “Be careful what you wish for,” he whispered, even though Phil shouldn’t have to apologize.  It wasn’t Phil’s fault that Loki had happened.  And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t Clint’s either.

“No,” Phil said.  “I’m done keeping some things secret.  It turns out there _are_ some things that I don’t want to take to the grave.”

Clint’s heart gave a sickening jolt and he swallowed heavily.  “Don’t joke about that,” he said.  “Please.”

Phil smoothed a thumb along Clint’s cheekbone.  “Sorry.  I won’t,” he said.  “I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

“No,” Clint protested, even though he still had no idea what Phil was trying to do.  Phil’s hands on his face were warm, though, and the motion of Phil’s thumb sent prickles skittering across Clint’s skin.

“God, I love you,” Phil breathed in a rush.

Clint’s brain ground to a halt.  “What?” he said, because he couldn’t have heard that right.

Phil swallowed, his throat bobbing, but his beautiful blue eyes were warm as they watched Clint.  “I love you, Clint Barton,” he said softly.  “So much it makes me stupid.”

His knees suddenly weak, Clint grabbed onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt, grateful he was sitting down.  Something deep inside his chest cracked, splitting open.  As terrified as he’d been at the thought of losing Phil, of not getting a chance to sort out all the shit between them, hearing _Phil_ confess how he felt was somehow even scarier.  Swallowing, Clint stared at the man he loved and finally gathered up enough courage to admit how he really felt.

“Me, too,” he rasped.  “So much.  Just… yes.  Fuck, me too, Phil.”

Phil smiled, wide and bright, his eyes crinkling at the corners.  Clint didn’t think he’d seen anything as gorgeous in his life.  Chuckling suddenly, Phil leaned closer.  “I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard all year,” he said.

“Definitely,” Clint agreed.  “Except for that whole thing where you’re still alive, so you know…”

Phil’s resurrection had been the best news ever, so the fact that Phil loved him back might have to settle for being second.  Oh God, Clint wasn’t making sense anymore, was he?

Giving up on words, Clint leaned the rest of the way in to press his lips to Phil’s.  The kiss started off soft and sweet, but when Phil’s hands slipped into his hair, Clint shivered.  Phil arched towards him with a breathless hum, and Clint poured everything into the kiss, all the longing and hope and fear that he’d never get to do this.  Having Phil in his arms felt _right_ in a way Clint hadn’t thought he’d ever get to _have_ , and now that he _did_ , a bright warm was bubbling up in his chest.

Clint pressed into Phil’s solid strength, reaching out to slide his hands under Phil’s shirt, but Phil grunted at the movement and it wasn’t the good kind.  Clint immediately pulled back, breaking the kiss.  “Phil…” he breathed.

“Don’t start,” Phil said, but the effect was ruined by the flush in his cheeks and the way his hair was standing up at odd angles.  (Clint had wandering fingers and shit, that just made Phil look even more adorable.)

Phil blinked, his eyes sharpening, but his lips curved up into a smile as he reached out to smooth his fingers through Clint’s hair.  “I’m not that injured,” he said.

Clint huffed.  “Let me worry about you, Phil,” he said, because it was still hard to be reminded of Phil’s mortality.

Phil’s eyes softened.  “Okay,” he said.  “How about we go to bed instead?”

Arching his eyebrows, Clint stared at Phil until Phil’s cheeks flushed.  “To _sleep_ ,” Phil muttered.  “And maybe cuddle?”

Clint swallowed.  Waking up in the same bed next to Phil that morning had been both paradise and torture, because he’d thought it had been a glimpse of something he could never have.  Only, he _could_.  “Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

Phil smiled.

<*>

Phil woke slowly, warm and more content than he’d been in a very long time.  Sunlight lit up the room, falling across the bed and the pillow was soft when Phil buried his face in it.  He didn’t want to move, and not just because that would tempt his bruises to remind him that things weren’t as perfect as they felt.

Fingers traced down the line of his back, and Phil smiled, but he didn’t open his eyes.  Clint’s callouses were slightly rough, but his touch was tender, and Phil was pretty sure only half of that was because of his bruises.  Clint was surprisingly sweet with the people and things he truly cared about, and the idea that Phil might now be one of those things sent tingles all the way down to his toes.  Leaning down, Clint pressed a gentle kiss to Phil’s shoulder and Phil’s smile widened.

“Well, isn’t this just an adorable picture?” Nick Fury drawled.

Phil raised his head, blinking open his, and scowled.  He was pretty sure Nick Fury hadn’t been in the safehouse when he’d gone to sleep in Clint’s arms.  “Do you hear Nick’s voice?” he asked Clint.  “Because I would have thought Nick wouldn’t have dared show his face after that bastard _put a tracking device in my watch_.”

Clint blinked, his lips curving up into a grin that only widened when he glanced over Phil’s shoulder.  “I think he’s mad,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil watched Nick huff and push away from the doorframe he’d been leaning against.  Nick’s thick hat had been pulled down almost over his eyebrows and his parka was a glaring bright red with blue stripes that made Phil wince.  At least it wasn’t one of Nick’s Hawaiian shirts, because when he wasn’t wearing black, Nick had _atrocious_ dress sense.

“He can be mad all he likes,” Nick said.  “He’s alive, and that’s what matters.”

Clint swallowed, his eyes flicking to Phil.  “Yeah,” he agreed.

Phil sighed, slowly sitting up.  “You know, putting it like that takes all the fun out of it,” he said.

“Good,” Nick said.

Huffing, Phil laughed.  Beside him, Clint shifted and slid an arm around Phil’s waist, pulling Phil in to lean against his chest.  Phil happily slumped against him because moving had made all his bruises ache again.  Ugh.

“And for the record,” Nick said, waving a hand towards the bed, “It’s about damn time, Cheese.  Glaciers move faster than you do.”

Phil’s cheeks heated as he levelled a glare at Nick.  “Shut up, Marcus,” he grumbled.

Nick grinned.  “I’m happy for you,” he said.

Turning his head, Phil smiled at Clint, warmth bubbling through his chest again.  “I’m pretty damn happy myself,” he said.

Clint ducked his head, the tips of his ears turning pink.  “Aww, shucks, Phil,” he quipped, a smile spreading across his face.  “You sap.”

Nick snorted.  “You’d better get used to it, Hawk,” he said.  “He’s never going to stop now.”

Clint tightened his arm around Phil’s waist.  “I don’t mind,” he said quietly.

“Ugh,” Nick said, but his eye was dancing.  “Okay, let’s go before you two get even more nauseating.”

“Please, like you and Jasper are any better,” Phil shot back, although returning to SHIELD sounded pretty good, if only to get checked out by Medical.

Clint muffled a chuckle and turned to Nick.  “Is Nat okay?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Nick replied.  “She and Jasper radioed in an hour ago.  They’ve retrieved the Chitauri tech and they’re overseeing the transport back to the Cube.”

Against Phil’s shoulder, Clint relaxed.  He always worried when he wasn’t there to watch Natasha’s back.  “Thanks,” he said.

Nick nodded.  “Well, if that’s sorted, come on,” he said.  “I’ve got places to be, and if you hurry, I won’t tease you about holding hands the whole way home.”  He smirked.  “Well, too much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint grumbled playfully.  He climbed off the bed and reached out a hand to help Phil to his feet.  “We’re terrified.”

Fighting another smile that threatened to take over his face, Phil laced his fingers through Clint’s as he listened to Clint and Nick trade sarcastic quips.  It didn’t matter how much Nick decided to tease him about this.  His feelings were finally out in the open and, miraculously, Clint loved him back.  Phil was pretty sure his world was perfect.

 

End.

 


End file.
